


Scars of the Pandorica

by xAwkward_Ariesx



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood
Genre: Dimension Travel, F/M, The Pandorica, This all started because of a damn prompt on tumblr, alternative universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xAwkward_Ariesx/pseuds/xAwkward_Ariesx
Summary: The Doctor has rebooted the universe, the crack in the fabric of reality have ceased to exist. Well they had.





	1. Prologue

Another day of school, another day of being human. The whole process fascinated her. An institution specifically designed for training the future generations. Incredible.

She was about to tug her school shirt over shoulders, eager for another day of learning, when something caught her eye in the mirror. Her arms went limp at her sides as she crept towards the mirror, her shirt trailing from her arms.

There on her shoulder was a perfectly healed silvery scar that reminded her of a cracked wall. Her finger trailed the mark curiously. She yelped and wrenched her hand back as she looked at her now pink flesh. It'd burnt her.

"Sarah-Jane!" She called through the house, her voice sounding panicked to her own ears. New experiences usually excited her, but for some reason she was filled with dread.

The woman in question stepped through the door looking flustered at the sudden summon.

"What is it, Sky?"

"Look!" She pointed sharply at the sudden addition to her shoulder.

"It's a scar. Where did you get that?" Her hand immediately outstretched as if hypnotised.

"No, don-" It was too late.

Sarah-Jane hissed as the scar burnt her too.

"What is it?" Sky asked in a trembling voice.

"I don't know."

* * *

She woke to find the rising sun shining directly into her eyes and with crick in her neck. Looks like she'd fallen asleep at her desk again without closing any blinds. She sighs, but reluctantly pulls herself up, her joints cracking as she does so. Her eyes flicker over the pictures of her and husband as she stands, unwilling to linger but unable to let go.

By the time she's walked to the bathroom the ache in her neck is gone, she supposed there were some advantages to her improved healing. She ruffles her golden locks with a yawn and sets about brushing her teeth.

As she lifts her head she notices something peaking out of the strap of her vest. Her eyebrows furrow as she pushed the strap out of the way and brushes her hair over her shoulder to take a closer look. But even after two centuries her enhanced eye sight has not diminished and she should know better than to question herself by now. But there it is. A scar etched into her right shoulder, puckered and pale but by no means new. And she knows for a fact it wasn't there last night. Two fingers trace the edge of the scar, as thoughts whirl through her brain. What was it? Why hadn't it healed? Where had it come from? Her train of thought is cut abruptly off when her fingers come away burnt.

She stares down at the reddened skin and then back to the reflection of the scar.

"What the hell are you?"

The scar stares back but provides no answers.

* * *

The six year old stared resolutely at his drawing determined to make it perfect, he had his mother's stubbornness and his father's need to prove people wrong. The navy blue made grand sweeping strokes across the paper as his left hand came up to scratch at his shoulder. He whimpered as the pain persisted.

He dropped his pencil as he continued to rub at his shoulder. He could hear his father working on the car from the garage and his mother pottering around preparing lunch in the kitchen.

"Mummy!"

"What is it, Malcom sweetie?" She strolled into the living room, her walk unhurried but her eyes darting around trying to find the cause of his distress.

"My shoulder hurts." He pouts.

She smiles kindly.

"Let me see. Which one is it?"

He points at the offended shoulder as she crouches down to take a look. She rolls up his t-shirt sleeve to see a thin scar about two inches long nestled against the crook of his shoulder. Her expression immediately betrays her concern years of medical training suddenly winning out. She presses a finger gently against the skin but is shocked when it burns her.

Malcom looks between his mother and his shoulder worried. She smiles reassuringly at him.

"Wait here a second."

She walks into the kitchen and opens the back door.

"Mickey!"

The man jogs into the kitchen moments later a sense of urgency in his step and streaks of motor oil streaking his face.

"What's wrong babe?" He asks cleaning his hands in a rag.

She whispers to him, far too quietly for Malcom to hear, but they're eyes flicker to him occasionally. Once she quiets his dad steps towards him to look at his son's shoulder for himself. He sighs and rubs at his brow, streaking more oil across his face.

"Where's the Doctor when you need him?"

* * *

Astrid Pith could think of far more glamorous jobs than pulling pints in a grimy pub, but it put food on the table even if it wasn't much.

She pulled off her apron and signalled to her boss to let him know she was taking her break, he nodded in affirmation and she slipped into the back room. She splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to wash away the feel of lingering eyes, as usual it did nothing. Sighing she grabbed one of the rough paper towel provided and started to dry her hands when she noticed in the cracked and rusted mirror that the water had soaked into part of her thin white shirt.

Sighing once more she began to dab at the fabric but pulled away when it felt far too warm. Confusion etched into her face she pulled down the collar of her shirt to see an unfamiliar scar carved into the flesh there. She felt panic spike through at the perfectly healed mark that hadn't been there this morning. She gulped as a wave of foreboding crashed into her. Something was very, very wrong.

* * *

Doctor Owen Harper questions his life choices on the regular. Among those where the decision to wrack up an enormous student debt for the sake of becoming a doctor. Things he doesn't regret, include the blonde he took home last night when drunk off his ass, that now lays slumbering in his bed.

He pads into the kitchen to make breakfast. The bacon was sizzling in the pan when he turns to the fridge to grab some eggs. He almost ignores the reflection of his nude body in the fridge's shiny surface, the littering of love bites was nothing new but the pale scar that decorated his right shoulder was.

Years of medical training flew out the window as he poked at the offending area in shock. The burn he received came as an additional shock.

"What the fuck did I do last night?" Be muttered to himself in the empty kitchen, suddenly questioning his bed partner.

* * *

A run always did wonders for her mood first thing in the morning, it helped set the tone for the whole day or some philosophical shit like that. But she'd promised her sister they'd go see a movie today and she was nowhere near ready in her current state. Determined to be on time for once, she hopped into the shower letting the slewth of cool water calm her frantic heart from a good day's running.

Towel clad, she stepped back into her room moments later to get dressed. Jeans, underwear and a tank top later and she was ready. As she pulled down her tank top however, her figures grazed against her shoulder causing her to yelp in pain.

"What the...." She rushed to her bathroom and cleared the fogged up glass trying to see the cause of her pain.

She prodded blindly at her slowly warming skin and when she jabbed at the raised, jagged skin it burned. Looking away from the blurry image left in the mirror she looked down at her shoulder and felt her stomach drop.

"Tessa what's taking you so long?" Her sister grumbled as she stepped into the room.

She turned away from the mirror slowly, her face pale and drawn. Whatever complaint her sister had prepared fizzled out as she took her expression in.

"What is it?"

She pushed her tank top strap completely out of the way so it was no longer blocking her view.

"Is this a joke?"

"It burns Gabbie." She turned back to the mirror. "But..... But it looks just like...." She trailed off but it didn't need saying, not really.

Her sister looked panicked and resigned but she took the words that hung between them and said them anyway.

"My tattoo." She took a deep breath, as if in preparation, her next words were barely a croak. "It looks like my tattoo."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you know I hate you for this Michael. I do not need more WIPs. Anyway this was inspired by a lil conversation on tumblr by Michael and if I have to suffer so do you guys.**


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's attempt to better understand her newest scar creates reprecussions for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood and self harm if that isn't your cup of tea skip ahead

Rose darted into the familiar hardware store as rain pelted down on her from above. The weather had been bizarre lately. It could switch at the drop of a hat, one moment they were experiencing a heatwave, the next weeks of snow. She knew better than to believe it was simple climate change or to pass it off as a coincidence that it started around the same time her scar appeared. It had been a month since then and she was no closer to figuring out what it was than when she'd started.

She shivered in the shop's entrance, the sound of the bell still ringing in her ears. The owner was a man in his twenty with long dark blond hair that went past his shoulders, rectangular glasses and he always wore t-shirts for bands Rose didn't recognise as they were specific to this universe. She'd not had much time to catch up on pop culture since she'd returned to Pete's universe. Okay that was a lie she'd had two centuries but she'd deemed it unimportant and a fruitless task. It was a constantly changing entity that was impossible to keep track of.

"Rose! What can I do for you?"

"Scalpels? Got any scalpels?" She asked in a rush.

"Scalpels? What do you need those for?"

"Rob, how long have you known me?" She teased.

He sighed.

"Long enough to know not to question what you do in that madhouse of yours." He recited with an eye roll.

"Exactly."

"We don't have any scalpels but we've got some craft knives."

"That'll do."

"Third aisle on the left."

"Thanks."

"You owe me a lasagna!" He called after her.

"Sure thing."

She was certain she'd had a scalpel at some point but she'd lost it sometime between dismantling the toaster and prodding at some alien junk she'd found. And she'd somehow lost all of her kitchen knives but that might have been from decades ago she couldn't remember anymore. It was just another of the many things she didn't bother to remember, if it was important it would come to her.

She located the knife easily and was soon back in her apartment. She'd changed into a tank top and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, wanting to create as little cleaning up for herself as possible.

She'd tried all number of things to figure out what the hell the scar was because it sure as hell wasn't natural, but so far nothing. It was being unreasonably stubborn. And she was losing patience, had even started to speculate that there was something inside the scar tissue or behind preventing her body from healing already.

She was by no means a medical practitioner and would likely only make things worse but she hadn't yet encountered anything that she couldn't come back from.

She twirled the knife between her fingers, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She'd washed the blade while a voice in the back of her head taunted her about the impossibility of infections and blood poisoning, and how the whole ritual was a waste of time she was using to disguise her fear.

She growled under breath as the voice piped up again and without a second thought she plunged the blade into the dead centre of the jagged scar tissue.

A scream tore itself free from her throat. Her hand burned and blistered as she clutched the craft knife but she barely registered it, as hundreds of images hurtled through her brain. Half a dozen people she didn't recognise. It seemed to be going through a list as she was shown several different images of the same person before it moved onto the next. A teenage girl with brown hair, a young boy, a pale blonde, a young man and two women who appeared to be in their twenties with brown hair and similar features. She didn't know what it was about these two but they were clearly important as it seemed to pause a little longer on each image of them for a little longer than all the people previously.

But soon it was too much. The sensation  of fire consuming her mind was torture, she tore the blade free and was left gasping as the flames finally retreated. She turned her head wearily to the side to look at her bloodied and battered shoulder. She watched as the skin healed in an unfamiliar white glow, so different from the usual gold she'd become accustomed to. The wound finally closed, the glow being sealed off with it, but still, the scar remained completely unchanged.

She growled in frustration. She was getting nowhere with this. Grabbing a dishcloth she swiped at her shoulder a couple of times, removing all traces of blood when there was knock at the door. She tossed the rag at the knife effectively covering it, before heading to the door.

Stood in the corridor was a figure obscured by the bright flashlight that was currently shining directly into Rose's eyes. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

"Ms Spencer?"

"Sorry dear," She lowered the torch. "the power's out all throughout the complex we're just checking that everyone's okay or if they need a light."

"A power cut?" Rose looked back over her shoulder into her apartment, and sure enough, all sources of light had disappeared except traces of light from the windows as her at was swept in rays of orange from the streetlights.

"You hadn't noticed dear?"

She turned back to the concerned gaze of her plump, black-haired neighbour.

"Uh no. I was taking a nap."

"A nap? But I heard you screaming dear."

"Yeah," She gulped, as images from moments before threatened to overwhelm her again. "Nightmares."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Are you sure you'll be alright, dear? I can send Evans over if you need?"

Rose plastered in a tight smile as she fought the urge to groan and bang her head against the door. Evans was Nicki's grandson, she'd been trying to set Rose up ever since she'd heard that the blonde was single.

"I'm sure. I'll be fine, Ms Spencer."

"Alright then. I best check on the others."

"Of course."

Rose watched as the woman disappeared down the dark corridor. She slumped against the door, held up only by her grip on the door handle as exhaustion crashed into her like a tidal wave. It appeared her little stunt had had more of an impact on her than she'd realised. She blinked several times trying to fight back the sudden fatigue. She backed into her flat, shutting the door heavily, as her legs gave out from beneath her. Rose shook her head in a valiant attempt to clear the cobwebs from her brain. It was pointless even trying before she'd even been able to walk to the sofa she was being consumed by darkness.

* * *

"How is he?" Mickey whispered as he crept up the stairs to find his wife standing outside their son's bedroom door.

She shook her head weakly.

"Still feverish." She let out a huff of frustration. "I don't get it, Mickey, physically he's in perfect health and yet." Her head thumps backwards against the door frame in helplessness.

"There's got to be something. Maybe we can cal-"

"Mummy!"

The parents spun on their heels in a flurry of panic as they entered their only child's room. Their little boy's face was streaked with tears, he clutched at his favourite teddy bear as he sobbed. They rushed forward, Martha wrapped him up in her arms while Mickey knelt on the floor beside them.

"What's wrong baby? Can you tell me?"

"My head. Its too hot. And there were faces Mummy."

"Faces? Like monsters?" Mickey asked as he rubbed his son's knee, there was a deep pain in his chest from seeing his son so distraught but being powerless to help.

He shook his head with a whimper, his bottom lip trembling as tears continued to fall down his cheeks.

"People. There was a blonde woman with gold eyes. And others too. Daddy make it stop, please make it stop."

"I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry."

And there they sat their child cocooned in blankets between them as they rocked him softly and sung lullabies, all the while they sank further and further into desperation for the fate of their child.

* * *

"Mr Smith, I need you to do a scan of Sky."

"Of course, Sarah-Jane." The familiar blue light scrolled slowly down Sky's fidgeting form.

Sarah-Jane's gaze flickered nervously between her adopted daughter and the Xylok as she awaited the verdict.

"Sarah-Jane, there appears to be an unidentifiable signal emitting from Sky's shoulder."

"Can you translate it?"

"Source..." The silence stretches out uncomfortably in the musky loft, falling like a blanket over its occupants. "Unknown."

Sarah-Jane heaves a sigh of frustration. Scars don't just appear without cause much less ones that burn to the touch. The energy required to leave a mark on its victim without using a physical presence was astronomical and almost always bad news.

"You must be able to find something?"

Sky was a mere child, whatever her start in this world, didn't change the fact she was in Sarah-Jane's care. Sky was her daughter.

"The signal is too deeply encrypted it will take time Sarah-Jane."

"Thank you, Mr Smith." She sighed.

"What do we do now, Sarah-Jane?"

"You," She grabbed her bag off of one of the many cluttered sides. "Need to get to school. Mr Smith has nothing yet and you're going to be late, so best not to worry about it for now." 

She tried to force reassurance into her smile, and after so many years crafting clever lies it came easily. Sky nodded and headed for the door. She went to follow but that wave of unease rose back to the surface as she glanced back at the supercomputer.

She shook her head. It was probably nothing.

* * *

Astrid took the rest of the day off after discovering the scar, feigning sickness. She'd paced her apartment for hours as she'd tried to find some explanation for it but inevitably sleep claimed her and she remained clueless. 

Hours turned to days, turned to a week. And nothing changed.

The scar sat on her shoulder as if it had been there for years and gave her no trouble as long as she didn't touch it. Aside from adding a new scar to her growing collection, there were no other problems.

Well. There hadn't been any other problems until one evening. She'd been sent home early and was enjoying a good romance novel when her shoulder starts to itch. More specifically her scar. Shuffled about on the sofa refusing to give in to the urge to scratch the bothersome itch, knowing full well how it would end. But the sensation grew, getting warmer and warmer, gradually reaching its crescendo, as her nerves felt as though they'd been set alight.

Before she could move from her spot on the sofa to grab some ice, she was being bombarded with images. A blonde woman waitressing amongst the rich. No. Wait. It's her. But it can't be. And yet it is. There's two brunets, a Zocci, a couple in cowboy fancy dress and an elderly man. She sees androids designed like angels, a forklift and herself falling.

Her head spins and she fights against the inviting bliss of unconsciousness as her head is filled with another wave of images. There's a little boy colouring in something called a police box, a young girl that reminds her of a lightning storm, two sisters that give her the chills, a young doctor who smells like the grave and a blonde that sounds like the howling of a wolf.

The whirlwind of images leaves her far more suddenly than it had started.

It takes a moment to orientate herself, but when she finally does its to find she's slipped off of the sofa onto the floor. She pulls herself upright, desperately trying to ignore the pounding in her skull as she tries to make sense of the past minute. Who were those people? And what did they have to do with her scar?

It just didn't make any sense.


End file.
